


pick up what's left of my soul

by remy (iamremy)



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies), Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011), Mission: Impossible - Rogue Nation (2015)
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt William Brandt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-05-20 14:06:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6010372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/pseuds/remy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ethan's never really had a problem with compartmentalizing. He's always been good at storing emotions and feelings away for later, to look through when he can, and he does the same for experiences, good or bad. He's always been able to shut away the worst parts of the life that he's chosen for himself, the one he keeps choosing for himself.</p><p>So the PTSD is a bit of a surprise, really. Still, he can deal with it. He'll manage, like he always has. What he <em>can't</em> deal with is knowing how it affects Will, the distress and anxiety Will has to deal with on his behalf. And he knows that shutting himself off from Will in order to protect him from all of it is a bad idea, and it will come back to bite him in the ass, but he can't help himself.</p><p>After all, if he hadn't failed at protecting Will before, none of this would have happened anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SPNxBookworm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SPNxBookworm/gifts), [marriedtojbiebs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marriedtojbiebs/gifts).



> This one's for Cody and Sanjana. Enablers, the two of them. Terrible people. Life ruiners.
> 
> I love the hell out of them.
> 
> This was originally intended to be a one-chapter thing, but then it occurred to me that it would work better as chapters. I didn't want to half-ass this, seeing as ever since Cody gave me this prompt it's been eating away at me (and my sanity, thanks Cody). So yeah, chapters it is. Not too long ones, since I can't really handle those right now, not with my uni schedule.
> 
> Anyway, I'll quit the rambling now. All errors in this story pertaining to mental illness and PTSD are mine and mine alone, and I apologize in advance for them. I'll keep tagging stuff as the story progresses, but be warned, it's going to get a lot worse before it gets better.

It takes Ethan some time to realize that the screaming is coming from him. It takes him another moment to come to the conclusion that he’s awake, upright in bed, sweating so much his clothes are drenched with it, and that his throat hurts something awful, which means he’s been screaming for a good while now.

A cool hand touches his arm and he jumps, heart beating so fast it feels like it’ll break through his ribs and jump out of his chest, but then he sees it’s only Will, and he forces himself to relax. “Hey,” murmurs Will, and his voice is calm and controlled, an ability that Ethan has never been so envious of as he is now. “It was just a dream.”

Those words, far from comforting, just fill him with a deep sense of dread, followed by embarrassment. He’s faced so much and he’s come out on top of it all, unflinching and unbroken, and yet some stupid nightmare that he can’t even fully recall has him screaming so much his throat hurts. “I know,” he tells Will, endeavoring to keep his voice from shaking. “I know. I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Will replies, and his hand moves from Ethan’s arm to the back of his neck, squeezing it reassuringly. “I get it, okay? It’s okay. Do you want me to get you water or something?”

Ethan is really tempted to say yes, but his stomach jolts in protest at the idea, and he shakes his head. “No, thanks,” he says shortly. “I’m fine, Will.”

Even by the dim moonlight filtering through the gap in the curtains, Ethan can tell Will is not convinced. His eyes narrow minutely and his lips press into a thin line, but then his expression changes back to normal and he withdraws his hand. “Okay,” he says, sounding uncertain. “Okay. Just – tell me what you need.”

Ethan forces himself to smile. “I’m fine,” he repeats, his face hurting with the effort. He’s quite aware he probably looks demented, if the slightly alarmed look on Will’s face is anything to go by. “I’ll let you know if I need anything,” he promises, lying through his teeth. “Go back to sleep, Will.”

“And you…?” Will lets the question hang between them, looking at him expectantly. He moves his hand away from Ethan’s neck to hesitantly take his hand, and Ethan hates it, hates how unsure of himself Will is being where he’s normally so confident to do whatever he thinks is right. He hates that Will doesn’t know what to do, and is therefore walking on eggshells around him right now, so to speak.

“I’ll sleep, too,” he tells Will, forcing a smile again, lying again. He moves his hand subtly out of Will’s grasp, trying not to make it look like he doesn’t want to be touched, but Will looks a little hurt and Ethan knows he failed. Trying to smooth over the moment, he reaches out and puts his hand on the side of Will’s face, and says, “Thank you.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Will repeats again, closing his eyes at Ethan’s touch. “You know I’m here for you. You know that.”

“Yeah,” Ethan says. He can’t come up with anything to add to that, so he just repeats, “Yeah.”

Will leans forward to kiss him lightly, before lying back down. “Sleep, Ethan. You need it.”

Ethan nods. “Yeah,” he says one more time, painfully aware of how dumb he sounds parroting the same word over and over. “I’ll just.” He indicates his sweat-soaked shirt as he gets out of bed. “Change. Don’t wait for me, I’ll be back in just a few minutes.”

Will looks at him, and there’s that minute narrowing of his eyes again, like he’s trying to read Ethan’s mind. The moonlight reflected off his face makes his eyes look so much bluer than they usually do, paints his skin an ethereal silver-blue, and the overall effect is that he doesn’t look… real. He looks like something out of a story, the hero who saves the day (ironic, seeing as that’s what he thinks _Ethan_ is). He looks like something beautiful that only happens to good people, and suddenly Ethan feels a pervading sense of shame. He woke him up. He woke Will up for something as inconsequential as a nightmare.

“Ethan?”

He blinks, and comes back to the present to find Will looking at him with blatant worry on his face, no longer bothering to hide his distress at Ethan’s state. “Ethan, are you all right? Please, Ethan, I…” Will looks a little lost for words all of a sudden. He sits up again, running his hand through his hair and looking imploringly at Ethan. “Ethan—”

“I’m fine,” Ethan lies, and tries to smile again. “Or I will be, at any rate. Please don’t worry yourself on my behalf—”

“Don’t worry myself on your behalf…?” Will repeats incredulously. “Ethan, how can I not worry about you? You were _screaming_ , you—” He stops abruptly, looking anguished, clearly at a loss for words.

Instead of answering Ethan rests one knee on the bed and leans forward to kiss Will, putting his hand on the back of Will’s head and trying to put everything he can’t say into the press of his lips on Will’s. “I’m going to be okay,” he tells Will, so fiercely he almost believes it himself. “Don’t worry. I’m just going to change my shirt, and I’ll be right back, I swear.”

Will nods, looking half-convinced, though the look of worry doesn’t leave his face. Ethan suspects it’s not going to, not for some time now, and he hates himself a little for putting it there. Will doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve the additional weight of Ethan’s issues on top of his own.

He very resolutely does not look at his face in the mirror in the bathroom, knowing all he’s going to find are dark shadows under his eyes and a pallor to his skin as well as worry lines and fatigue. He splashes cold water onto his face and then changes his shirt, dumping the old one in the laundry bin in the corner and padding softly back to bed, doing his best to ignore the flashes of the dream that woke him up, the insidious whispering in his ear that _you deserve this, you have it coming, you asked for it because you failed, you were not good enough_ …

Will’s eyes are closed and his breathing steady. For all intents and purposes he looks fast asleep, and yet Ethan knows he isn’t. He’s shared a bed with Will for long enough to know when he’s really asleep and when he’s faking, and right now he’s faking. He’s waiting for Ethan to get into bed so that he can finally relax, assure himself that Ethan is all right for now and not going anywhere, not going to do anything stupid.

The warmth in Ethan’s heart is mixed with shame and self-loathing, tainting the way Will makes him feel like he’s someone to be looked after and protected. Will’s always seen him as a person instead of a Hero or a Savior, and that includes his flaws, and Ethan never ceases to be amazed by how Will loves him regardless, loves him despite knowing who he is down to the core. He is the first person in years who’s looked into Ethan’s soul and not flinched away from the darkness he’s found, not left him because Ethan’s issues were too much too handle or even made him feel like he was anything other than perfect. Again he thinks, _I’m so sorry, you don’t deserve this, I’m sorry, I am, you deserve better_.

Instead of voicing any of this out loud – let Will maintain his façade of sleep (and also Will would kick his ass if he knew what Ethan was thinking) – Ethan leans in and presses his lips softly to Will’s brow, before getting under the covers next to him. He wraps an arm around Will and presses his face in his hair and hopes that it’s enough to chase away the nightmares for another night.

But he still sees the blood on his hands when he closes his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never written a character with PTSD before. Let me know how I did? Or, alternatively, scream at me and tell me I'm a horrible person, I'll take that too.
> 
> Love,  
> Remy x  
> [my tumblr.](http://chesterbennington.co.vu)


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's just getting worse, and Ethan doesn't know how he's going to deal with this now, and how he's going to keep Will away from it.

The next time Ethan wakes up in the middle of the night, around a week later, he’s relieved to find that he hasn’t been screaming. It dissipates, however, the moment Will opens his eyes and murmurs a sleepy, “Ethan?”

“Go back to sleep,” Ethan says automatically. “I’m okay.”

Clearly not believing him, Will sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes, before focusing them, laser-sharp, on Ethan. “Did you have a bad dream again?”

Instead of looking at his face (Will’s gaze is making him squirm, making him feel like he’s being X-rayed) Ethan takes in the tiny details in the room – the curtains moving in the wind coming through the small opening in the window; the shadow of their clothes in the corner where he’d removed them in a fit of passion earlier; the ajar bathroom door; the love bite on Will’s neck that he’d left just a few hours previously; and two inches under it, the jagged scar that bisects his collarbone, a relic from a mission a year or so earlier. Seeing it produces a sick swooping feeling in his stomach, like it’s dropping out from inside him – because he could have stopped that happening. That scar would never have happened if he’d just been a bit faster.

Will follows his gaze down to his collarbone, and then reaches out to gently nudge Ethan’s face up so that their eyes meet. “Hey,” he says softly. “Stop. That wasn’t your fault.”

Ethan forces himself to look Will in the eyes, even though it feels like Will can see straight into his soul, can see everything that’s wrong and broken in him. “I know,” he says, and his heart races with the lie. Or maybe it’s still racing from the dream, from the remembrance of a helicopter exploding in a tunnel, of watching his mentor die and feeling it acutely despite the man’s unforgivable betrayal. “I know,” he repeats, and he doesn’t know whom he’s reassuring, himself or Will.

On a whim he leans forward and kisses the scar, and Will sighs, the sound a mix of emotions that Ethan can’t identify. “I love you, you dumbass,” he tells Ethan, wrapping his arms around him. “Though I do wish you’d stop blaming yourself for things that aren’t your fault.”

Ethan rests his head on Will’s shoulder and doesn’t answer.

* * *

 

He wakes up in the morning to see that he’s somehow wrapped himself around Will in his sleep, his limbs thrown across Will’s body and his face pressed into Will’s hair. He presses a light kiss to Will’s temple before disentangling himself, but his efforts at caution fail and Will stirs. “Ethan?” he murmurs, and the déjà vu from last night is sharp as a knife.

“Just going out for a run,” Ethan whispers, placing his hand on Will’s face in an attempt to soothe him somewhat. “I’ll be back.”

“Okay,” Will replies, so trusting that it makes Ethan’s heart hurt. This is what he’s afraid of, what he fears in every moment waking or asleep – the kind of trust from his teammates, and especially from Will, that will lead them to do anything he asks. To fall in the way of harm for him.

To get scars that should belong to him.

Very resolutely not looking at Will’s collarbone, Ethan kisses his temple one more time before making his way to the closet to find some clothes to put on. He emerges from the bathroom five minutes later to find Will fast asleep again – for real – breathing slow and deep, face content as he sleeps.

Maybe, Ethan thinks as he steps outside in the cool morning air, if he runs fast enough, he can leave himself behind. It’s never worked before but that never stops him from trying.

* * *

 

He comes home from his run to find the fire alarm going, and immediately his heart is in his mouth, bile rising in his throat as he throws aside all caution and races into the house. “Will?” he calls, looking for the source of the fire. He can’t see it yet, but he can smell the smoke, and it’s causing his heart to go so fast it actually physically hurts. “Will!” he calls again, a note of panic in his voice.

“I’m in here!” comes Will’s voice, followed by a cough, and Ethan follows it to the kitchen, bursting in through the door to find—

Will standing near the stove, staring in dismay at the pancakes that he’s managed to burn, now reduced to sticky black residue in the pan that’s giving off the smoke. The smoke that set off the fire alarm. Just smoke. No fire.

Ethan lets out a low moan of overwhelming relief before collapsing against the nearest wall, and immediately Will is by his side, burned breakfast forgotten. “Ethan?”

“Jesus Christ,” Ethan manages to say, grabbing Will with both hands and pressing him close, feeling the reassuringly steady beat of his heart through his chest. “I thought—”

“I’m all right,” Will interjects, his voice soft and warm as he melts into Ethan’s frantic embrace, the alarm still going off in the background. “I forgot the pancakes and the stupid alarm went off. I’m okay, I promise. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Ethan lets out a shaky, mirthless, somewhat insane laugh, and presses his lips to the side of Will’s head. “Jesus Christ,” he repeats. “Fuck. _Will_.” His own heart is going a mile a minute, a frantic tattoo inside his chest that still hasn’t gotten the memo that Will is okay, he’s not dying, there’s no fire.

Will is okay.

“If you try to cook again,” Ethan says, his voice shaking, “I will kill you myself.”

Will laughs, the sound dissolving into the skin of Ethan’s neck. “Gotcha,” he says. “No cooking.”

Ethan releases Will only when his heart’s calmed down some, and the urge to breathe in Will’s scent to believe in his safety is no longer completely overwhelming. He keeps himself calm and composed on the outside, laughs at Will’s jokes and manages to down breakfast without throwing it up, deals with a very embarrassing visit from the fire department, and he does not let himself crack until he’s alone in the shower, his back against the cold tile wall as he gasps for breath, the sound disguised by the water running.

When he closes his eyes there is a fiery red imprint present, a violent memento from a fire of long ago, where he’d almost lost Will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was talking to Sanjana and Cody recently, and we had an idea - how about some kind of chat where we can all talk about this ship and let our inner trash kings and queens emerge, ya know? There's this pretty great app called Telegram, it's available for both iPhone and Android, and you can even use it on computer. You do need a phone number to sign up, but you don't have to give it out if you don't want to, you can just use a username. If you're interested, download the app and hit me up - my username is agent_brandt :)  
> If you already have a Telegram account and want to join up, you can do so by going [here](https://telegram.me/joinchat/BAK4QgbzvTjSS0NSFhmisw).
> 
> More info on the app can be found [here](https://telegram.org/).
> 
> Also, let me know what you guys thought of the chapter :) 
> 
> Love,  
> Remy x  
> [my tumblr.](http://chesterbennington.co.vu)


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He can distract himself all he wants, he can do whatever it takes not to dream, but he can't do jack shit about Will being a perceptive person and knowing what he's up to no matter how well he tries to hide it. And that's not even what he has a problem with; it's the unceasing concern, the unbreakable trust Will places in him that's getting to him.
> 
> He wishes Will would blame him, just this once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have an Ethan/Will craving, Sanj tells me just now.
> 
> I gotcha, I tell her.
> 
> REMY NO, she says.
> 
> REMY YES, I reply.

After the third time that Ethan has a nightmare and it wakes Will up, he decides he’s got to do something about it.

He waits till Will’s fallen asleep, and then slowly, quietly, eases himself out of bed. A few years ago Will would have woken up at the slightest hint of sound, but he doesn’t anymore. Just at home, though; on a mission he’s always hyper-alert, always on the lookout for anything that might signal danger. It’s only when he’s home with Ethan that he lets his guard drop enough to sleep soundly, and that too has taken quite some time to happen.

Ethan leaves the door ajar, not wanting to take the risk of even the small _click_ waking Will up. Silently he makes his way to the extra room they’ve converted into a home gym, and decides to start with the treadmill first, to warm up and also to run until his brain can’t think of anything else. He begins with a jog and then speeds up to a run, taking care not to set the speed too high, or else the pounding of his feet will surely wake Will up.

Fifteen minutes pass, and then he gives it up as a bad job. The speed he’s at is nowhere near what he wants, _needs,_ to distract himself, and any faster means Will’s going to come in here and drag his ass back to bed after informing him of his incurable idiocy.

So he practices his martial arts, judo and kung fu and tae kwon do and everything else, his motions fluid and practiced, practically mindless because he’s been doing this for so long that he doesn’t need to put any kind of effort or thought into it, which is the opposite of what he’s going for. Still, he pounds the boxing bag hanging from the ceiling until his fists hurt and his thighs have the pleasant ache of well-used muscles, and there’s sweat running down his face and soaking through his clothes. At the end of it all he feels marginally better – even if he didn’t quite succeed in distracting himself, at least he’s tired himself out enough to be able to drop right off to sleep out of pure exhaustion.

He showers before toweling his hair dry and changing into clean clothes, but he can’t bring himself to go to bed even though it’s been three and a half hours and he’s got work tomorrow. The chances of having a nightmare are just too high, and he can’t, he _can’t_ wake Will up. He’s not going to be responsible for Will being tired and sleepy all day because he had to stay up with a panicking Ethan. This is his cross to bear, his demon to exorcise, and he’s not going to drag Will into it. He’s already responsible for a lot of the shit Will has to deal with.

Unbidden, his thoughts return to the scar on Will’s collarbone. And the one on his side, where he’d been knifed and had only narrowly avoided being gutted. The puckered gunshot scar on his hip.

And the small, neat, surgical ones in his other side, the ones that came from doctors and surgeons and a hospital, and Ethan’s mistakes.

Will jokes about it sometimes, like it’s no big deal, but it _is_ , he was in the hospital for _weeks_ , they had to take his _spleen_ out, and none of this would have fucking happened if Ethan had been faster. If he hadn’t ignored every single instinct in his gut that screamed to _GET WILL OUT OF THERE NOW, GET HIM OUT **GET HIM OUT NOW**_ – but he had. He ignored the voice in his head and he told himself that if he didn’t finish the mission now they’d fail, and it’d start a war, and, and, and, if, but, therefore, however, whatever.

Truth is, there are a million excuses he can make, a thousand and one things he can tell himself to justify leaving Will with a sadistic asshole in a burning building, but nothing will ever come close to convincing him. He’s always going to blame himself.

But the worst part is that no one is seeing it the way he is. Jane, Benji and Luther all maintain that without him the mission would have failed, and he did what he had to. Will doesn’t blame him in the least for his injuries, for the weeks of recovery, for all the extra care he has to take now so that he can compensate for not having a spleen. Hell, he _jokes_ about it, and he’s always fondly exasperated whenever Ethan shows any signs of blaming himself. Sometimes Ethan thinks it would be better if Will was angry with him, if he raged and shouted and threw things and told Ethan that if it wasn’t for him none of this would have happened. But he’s not, he still loves Ethan and forgives him endlessly no matter what, and he still trusts Ethan with himself.

And Ethan can’t understand it at all. He knows Will tends to look at any issue with cold hard logic and reason, and that means he’s rarely ever wrong, so if he’s not angry with Ethan then maybe Ethan shouldn’t be angry with himself. But then sometimes Ethan thinks that maybe, just maybe, Will is a little biased when it comes to him. Maybe, when it’s about Ethan, Will puts his heart before his head.

Ethan shakes himself out of the darkness his thoughts reside in, swallows down the bile rising in the back of his throat, and goes back to the bedroom. Will is still fast asleep, and Ethan takes great care not to disturb him as he slides back under the covers. He very resolutely doesn’t look at any of Will’s scars, but even then when he closes his eyes they’re all he can see.

* * *

 

But there are no nightmares, and so Ethan keeps it up. Every night when he’s sure Will’s asleep he gets out of bed and works out until he can’t anymore, and then he showers, changes and collapses into bed, and he does not dream, and that makes everything worth it.

Until Will notices.

Ethan’s been feeling the effects of not getting enough sleep, lately – his body refuses to stay awake sometimes, and more often than not Will’s found him dozing on the sofa or nodding off at work, or downing cup after cup of coffee hoping it’ll keep him awake. He hasn’t commented on it yet, but Ethan knows it’s only a matter of time, and sure enough one day Will’s blue, _blue_ eyes narrow at him after he almost drives into a tree because he’d fallen asleep at the wheel, saved only by a last-minute swerve that results in them being on the receiving end of a lot of honking and cursing from other drivers.

“Ethan, stop the car.”

“Will, I’m fine,” Ethan begins, but Will’s not having any of it.

“Stop the car.”

So Ethan does.

Will gets out and walks over to Ethan’s side. He doesn’t look angry or upset – just determined, and that makes Ethan feel worse. He wishes Will would be angry with him, just once. It would be so much easier than dealing with his concern, his worrying and fretting, his utter dedication to making sure Ethan is okay.

Will opens Ethan’s door and says, “Get in the passenger seat. I’m driving.” The look on his face tells Ethan that he’d be a fool to argue, and moreover, he’d only be wasting his time because Will isn’t going to back down now. So he obeys, wordlessly, wondering what’s coming next.

“When we get home,” Will says once the car is back on the road, “you’re going to bed. Take pills if you have to. You’re not getting up until you’ve slept a proper amount of hours.”

“I’m fine,” Ethan tries again, finding himself unable to look at Will and therefore just staring out the window. He can’t take this, can’t take the concern in his voice, the worry lines on his face, why the hell does he even care so much about someone who’s cost him so much to be with?

“No, you’re not,” Will says, his voice calm, focused. “You haven’t been sleeping, and I appreciate your efforts to not wake me up, but I did anyway, and I know you work out. I didn’t say anything because I know sometimes you just have to, but this has gone on long enough. You need to rest.”

“Will—”

“No arguments,” Will cuts in. “You know I’m right.”

Ethan sighs, knowing he’s not going to win this one. “Fine,” he says. “But not more than six hours.”

“Ten,” Will replies. “Ten hours.”

“Seven.”

“Ten.”

“Seven’s fine, Will, I can function just fine on seven!”

“I don’t need you to _function_ , I need you to be healthy. Ten.”

“Ten’s too much, Will!”

“Ten’s just perfect.”

“Fine. Eight.”

“Ten.”

“Eight’s okay!”

“So is ten.”

“Nine.”

“It’s ten, and I swear to God, Ethan, I’ll knock you out if you say one more word,” threatens Will, finally reaching the end of his tether. “And you _know_ I’ll do it.”

“Fine,” sighs Ethan again. “ _Fine_.”

“And you’re taking Ambien,” Will adds. “I don’t want you getting out of bed for anything more urgent than peeing.”

Ethan tries a different approach. He says, trying to keep his tone non-argumentative and reasonable, “Will, you know why I’ve been working out instead of sleeping.”

“Yeah, I do.” They’re home; Will parks the car and gets out, and Ethan follows him inside. “And I know it’s hard, Ethan, believe me, I do, but you can’t do this to yourself. This isn’t the answer.”

“It’s working just fine for me.” So he’s not really succeeding at being non-argumentative. So what.

“No, it isn’t,” Will retorts, taking off his shoes and socks, loosening his tie. “You could have gotten us seriously hurt, Ethan. And I understand, trust me I do, that you need to just _not dream_ sometimes, but this isn’t the way to do it. You can’t give up sleeping entirely, okay?”

A horrible thought comes to Ethan. “You mean that if this were a mission I’d have gotten myself or someone killed, or seriously hurt.”

Will pauses in the act of taking his shirt off. “I didn’t say that, how did you even come to that conclusion?” he asks, blinking as he tries to understand. “I just said you can’t give up on sleeping just because of bad dreams.”

“Because if I do, I’ll crash and burn,” Ethan adds. “And if it happens on a mission…” He trails off.

“I know you wouldn’t do this on a mission,” Will says. “I know that. Don’t make it out to be something it’s not. Please change into something comfortable now, you need to rest.”

Ethan doesn’t move, completely ignoring the last part. “You can say it, you know. That you think I’m screwing up right now.”

Will sighs in exasperation. “Why should I say that if I’m not thinking it?” he inquires, raising an eyebrow at Ethan. “You’re not thinking straight, you’re tired, and you’re angry. I get it—”

“You don’t,” interrupts Ethan, and Will stops talking.

“What?”

“You don’t get it,” Ethan clarifies. He doesn’t know where it’s coming from, the anger, the frustration, the desire to make Will _stop_. He can’t take his patience and forgiveness, his trust and love, not when he doesn’t deserve any of it. And if he’s got to provoke Will into shouting at him – so be it.

“I don’t get what?” Will’s just staring at him like he knows exactly what Ethan means but doesn’t want to say it, because saying it will make it true, and that would hurt.

And Ethan goes on, relentless, furious with everything but mostly himself, and also despising himself for pushing it outward on the person who least deserves it, instead of inwards at himself. “You don’t get what it’s like, Will. I keep fucking up, and you keep getting hurt, and you couldn’t possibly understand what that feels like. So stop, please just fucking _stop_ acting like you can help, because you _can’t_.”

Will looks like he’s been punched in the gut, and it belatedly occurs to Ethan that by saying all this, he’s effectively erasing everything Will went through in regards to Croatia. He’s basically saying that none of that matters, and Ethan’s problems are bigger than Will’s, and God, he feels like a dick, he wishes more than anything he can take his words back. He’ll give anything to never have to see Will look that hurt again.

“Ethan…” Will’s voice is bleak and pained, and the way he says Ethan’s name feels like a knife in his heart.

“Will,” he begins, wanting to say he’s sorry, he doesn’t mean it, any of it, he’s the worst, and he didn’t think, he didn’t _think_ —but he can’t. His tongue seems stuck to the roof of his mouth, his throat too constricted to talk, and the look on Will’s face is killing him, it’s _killing_ him.

“No, you’re right.” Will’s face shuts off so fast Ethan blinks, sure he’s missed something. But Will is back to being calm and composed, his face a mask and blue eyes closed off to anyone wanting to look inside, and the abrupt change almost gives Ethan whiplash. “I’ll stop. But you do need to sleep. I’m not going to back down on that.”

“Will,” Ethan says again, saying his name like a prayer, an apology, but not knowing what to follow it up with.

“The Ambien should be in the medicine cabinet,” Will continues, like Ethan hasn’t spoken. “I’ll wake you up later. I’m in the living room if you need anything.” And with that he leaves, the door closing behind him in a way that sounds horribly final.

“Will!” Ethan calls, wanting to go after him even though he still doesn’t know what to say, what he can possibly say to cancel out the shit he just spewed at Will, holy shit holy shit he’s fucked up, he’s fucked up and he’s hurt Will _again_ , he’s done the one thing he swore to himself he never would – he’s thrown Croatia in Will’s face even without meaning to.

But he can’t move. His heart hurts and his body feels heavy, and suddenly he feels too drained and numb for anything. Even despising himself seems too tiring right now. So he just takes off his shoes and socks, obediently takes the Ambien and gets into bed, and tries not to think of anything. His brain his other ideas, though, and the look of shock and hurt on Will’s face replays in painful Technicolor in his mind until he finally gives in to the drugs and exhaustion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Utilize the comment box to inform me what a huge asswipe I am.
> 
> Love,  
> Remy x


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mission goes wrong, so horribly wrong, and all the progress Ethan has made falls away like it had never happened in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: there is a vivid description of a panic attack in this chapter. Avoid if it's a problem for anyone.
> 
> This one's a bit longer, mainly because a) my brain refused to shut up until I wrote it all down, and b) made more sense that way.

It’s dark outside when Ethan wakes up. The glowing neon letters on his nightstand clock tell him it’s around 2 AM. His bed feels strangely cold, and when he reaches towards Will’s side and finds nothing but thin air, he understands why.

He changes out of his rumpled clothes in the dark, putting on sweatpants and a light tee before making his way to the living room, where he suspects Will is. Sure enough, he finds him sitting on the couch, staring blankly at some nature documentary about penguins, but not actually seeing it. He looks like he’s been sitting there for hours, and Ethan feels his heart sink down to his feet.

“Hey,” he says softly, trying not to startle Will.

Will jumps a little anyway, and focuses laser sharp eyes on Ethan. “Hey.” His tone is wary, careful.

Ethan moves towards the couch, giving Will a small, uncertain smile. “Can I sit?”

Will shrugs, and moves over to make space. It’s not an engraved invitation but Ethan’s going to take what he can get, and he sits down, an inch of space between him and Will. He feels it acutely, the warmth radiating off Will that he can’t touch, not yet, and he knows Will feels it too.

“Did you sleep well?” asks Will, and his formal tones jangle Ethan’s nerves; Will’s never spoken to him like that, like they’re strangers.

Ethan nods. “Yeah. Will, listen, I…” He falters when Will looks at him, and it feels like his gaze cuts Ethan down to the bone. But he can’t back down now, he has to at least _try_ to undo the damage he’s done. Steeling himself, he goes on, “Listen, I’m sorry. I said a lot of things that I didn’t mean, and I… I hate myself for it. I didn’t mean a single word, Will, I swear. I wish I could take it all back, but I can’t. What I can do is make up to you somehow. So please, just… tell me what I can do to make this better.”

Will hears him out, and then looks away, his gaze dropping to his knees. He sighs. “Look, Ethan… I get why you said it. It hurt, but I get it. You were angry, you’re tired, and you haven’t slept properly in weeks. I know you’re not thinking straight. But Ethan, you’ve got to let me help. That’s all I want – for you to let me help. You don’t _have_ to do everything on your own now, okay?”

Ethan considers this, staring down at his hands knotted in his lap because he can’t bear to look at Will right now. “I – you’re right,” he says finally. “I’m sorry. It’s just hard sometimes, and sometimes it _does_ feel like no one else is going to get it.” He looks up just in time to see a flash of hurt on Will’s face, but it’s gone so fast that he wonders if he imagined it.

“Maybe,” Will concedes. “But dammit Ethan, let me _try_. How do you expect me to sit back and watch you go through all of – whatever this is – alone? Am I just supposed to sit back and do nothing? Because I am _not_ okay with that, and I never will be.”

“I know,” says Ethan, feeling ashamed. He reaches out and takes Will’s hand. “I’m sorry, Will, I really am.”

“It’s okay, Ethan,” Will replies. He doesn’t move his hand away, but he doesn’t reciprocate either.

Ethan refuses to be discouraged; bringing Will’s hand up to his mouth and kissing his knuckles, he asks with a small smile, “So we’re good?”

That does elicit a reply from Will, who smiles in return and intertwines his fingers with Ethan’s. “We’re good. God, I can’t even be mad at you for too long.”

“Good thing too,” says Ethan, “because I’m not sure I can survive that.”

Will leans into his side, closing the gap between them. “I’m not sure I can, either.”

* * *

Things are fine for the next few days. Ethan still wakes up in the middle of the night sometimes, but those times are fewer now, and in every single case Will wakes up with him, talks him down from his panic and helps him go back to sleep. There are no more arguments, at least not on any topic more serious than Ethan misplacing the TV remote or Will forgetting to fill the cars with gas.

Ethan exits his shower one morning to find Will already dressed and seated at the breakfast table, absently munching on a carrot and going through a small digital camera held in his hand. “What’s that?” asks Ethan as he sits down and pours himself a glass of orange juice.

“Mission,” replies Will, not looking away. He points his carrot at a package on the counter without even looking up. “There’s yours.”

Ethan stands and takes it, before sitting back down and opening it. It looks like a pretty simple mission; all they have to do is bodyguard some scientist and safeguard his important invention until he’s been successfully gotten to safety. Ethan’s done these plenty of times; he could do it with his eyes closed by now.

“Looks pretty easy,” he comments when he’s done.

Will’s done too, and as he spreads butter on toast he says, “Famous last words, Ethan.”

“Oh, come on,” scoffs Ethan. “We’ll be done in three days.”

Maybe this is just what he needs, he thinks as Will goes back to his toast and he returns to his OJ. Maybe this is the perfect distraction, and when they come back home he’ll be fine.

* * *

The scientist’s Very Important Invention is a supervirus. Of fucking course it’s a supervirus. Ethan feels an overwhelming urge to break something, but refrains mainly because it would not at all help him in convincing Will he’s fine.

Chimera and Bellerophon are at the forefront of his mind the entire time, no matter how hard he tries to think of something, _anything_ , else. Jane and Benji are oblivious but he knows Will sees right through him, and he knows that once they have a moment to themselves Will is probably going to want to have A Talk about it.

Ethan doesn’t want to have A Talk – he just wants to finish this fucking mission already and go back home and sleep for a week.

He manages to get through the first two days without punching through any walls or blowing any buildings up, but it’s the third day that really fucks him up. It starts off quite normal – they’re going through the last leg of their journey through the mountains, somewhere deep in Asia in a country whose name he can’t really pronounce, when their Jeep sputters to a halt.

Right there in the mountains, miles and miles away from civilization of any kind.

Ethan curses quite violently – and quite disproportionate to the situation – and the scientist, a small gray wisp of a man with a nervous disposition, jumps. “Is it bad?” he asks, clutching the case containing his supervirus to his chest.

Ethan doesn’t reply, instead choosing to level a glare at the case (and scaring the scientist in the process), and then he gets down, slams the door with unnecessary force, and stomps his way to the trunk.

“What’s with him?” Benji mutters.

Jane snorts. “Must have woken up on the wrong side of the sleeping bag.”

Will doesn’t reply to either of them; he’s watching Ethan closely, cataloguing his every movement, reading his body language and probably analyzing the hell out of it. Ethan has absolutely no wish to know what’s going through his mind, and so he silently glowers at everything as he hunts for the tools in the trunk.

“Let me help,” Jane begins, but Ethan cuts her off.

“I’ve got it,” he says curtly, putting the hood of the car up and glaring at the engine like it’s the singular source of every problem he’s ever had in his life.

“Well, then,” shrugs Jane, not too bothered, and turns to the scientist. “So, Dr. Presley – any relation to Elvis?”

The man looks startled at being addressed, but recovers himself and mutters, “Ah, no, I’m afraid not, my dear.”

“Pity,” says Benji. “That would have been cool.”

“I suppose so,” says Dr. Presley, looking uncomfortable. Small talk is very clearly not this man’s forte – it’s almost hilarious how much he fumbles to answer even the simplest of questions.

There is a lot of smoke coming from the engine, and there’s no wind, so Ethan resorts to trying to wave it away with his hands so he can see what’s going on in the engine block. It’s hot as hell, and the thick smoke isn’t helping; his eyes are watering and there are rivulets of sweat running down his face and neck and soaking his shirt. What he wouldn’t give for a cold shower right now…

Inside the Jeep, Jane and Benji are animatedly asking Dr. Presley questions about his virus, and he’s answering them, though how anyone understands anything between all the stuttering and false starts is beyond Ethan. “It’s, very, ah, very contagious,” Dr. Presley is telling them. “Just, uh, epidermal contact, can, ah, you know, cause infection – that is, even if it, er, touches your skin, that is. It’s very contagious,” he repeats.

“Why’d you invent something that can kill people with just a touch?” inquires Benji, sounding more curious than anything else.

“I’m afraid I, er, I cannot disclose the, ah, the reasons,” replies the doctor. “It’s, uh, you know, um, _classified_.”

Jane says, sounding amused, “You do know we have clearance, right?”

“Even then, my, uh, my dear,” says Dr. Presley, sounding genuinely regretful. Ethan gets the impression he’s very eager to talk about it, if he can, even if it’s just telling them he can’t disclose why he created it.

“Is there a cure?” queries Jane.

“Uh, no, my dear, I regret to say,” Dr. Presley tells her. “In any case, the, uh, the virus becomes fatal in, ah, around five hours. There’s no, um, no time for any cure to, uh, work.”

“Great,” mutters Benji. “Nothing wrong with inventing shite like that.”

Thankfully Presley doesn’t hear him, but Ethan does, and he glowers some more. Clearly the universe decided freaking Chimera wasn’t enough, he _had_ to have to deal with something much worse. _Fuck superviruses,_ he thinks viciously, _and fuck everyone who has anything to do with making one_.

The smoke’s finally cleared and Ethan can get a look at the engine. It looks like a right mess, and Ethan’s afraid to touch it, not wanting to burn his hands on the hot surface. He checks the coolant fluid and yep, it’s empty, and he takes a moment to curse out the asshole who rented them the car without going over the basic maintenance first.

“Hey, can someone check the back to see if there’s coolant?” he calls out.

Will is feigning boredom and playing games on his phone, and Dr. Presley is very enthusiastically (albeit very haltingly) showing Jane the clear vial containing the supervirus serum. Benji, clearly wanting to avoid the conversation, calls back, “I’ll check!” and scrambles out of the Jeep to go look in the back.

“What’s the situation?” asks Will, sounding for all intents and purposes bored out of his mind, even though Ethan knows he’s actually got a sharp eye on everything from behind his phone screen.

“The situation is… complete bullshit,” summarizes Ethan rather succinctly. “And it doesn’t look like it’s going to be fixed any time soon.”

“Can we call for help?” inquires Benji from where he’s still rummaging in the back.

“No signal,” Will answers. “That’s why I’m playing games and not, you know, getting our asses out of here.”

“Oh, dear,” says Dr. Presley, sounding rather alarmed.

“Don’t worry,” Benji assures him. “Ethan will get us out of here in no time, you’ll see!”

“Last time you said that, I died,” Ethan points out, miffed.

“Oh, you know what I mean,” says Benji brightly. “And no, I’m sorry, there’s no coolant here.”

“Fuck,” declares Ethan.

“Indeed,” deadpans Will before returning to his game.

Muttering some more curses darkly under his breath, Ethan turns his attention back to the engine block. When he checks, he finds they’re also out of windshield wiper fluid, as well as engine oil. How the Jeep’s survived two days is beyond him.

He locates the problem a moment later, and sighs. “We need a new fan belt,” he informs his teammates.

“I’m willing to bet my Italia we don’t have one lying around,” pipes up Jane, sighing irritably.

“Hand me the keys when we get home, then – _if_ we get home,” Benji adds, looking at once distressed about their situation, and excited about Jane’s Ferrari.

“I said I was _willing_ to bet it, not that I actually would,” Jane points out.

“Children, please,” sighs Will. “Ethan, is there really _nothing_ we can do?”

“No,” Ethan answers, resisting the urge to kick or punch something. He slams the hood shut and begins to makes his way to the driver’s seat, but just then there’s a loud _bang_ from the engine block, and then a _clang_ that dents the hood, like something’s hit it from underneath at great speed.

“Fucking—” begins Ethan, but stops when he sees the look of abject terror on Dr. Presley’s face.

“What?” he asks, apprehensively. “ _What_?” he repeats when no one answers.

That’s when he notices that the doctor isn’t holding the vial anymore, and that Will is sitting frozen in his seat, phone forgotten, his face a mask.

“No.” The word slips out of Ethan’s mouth as the full implications of what he’s seeing begin to wash over him. “ _No_. You _didn’t_ , you fucking _didn’t_ , _no_.”

“Ethan,” begins Jane, but Ethan’s not hearing any of it; he’s already going around the car to Presley’s side, and before any of them can do anything about it he grabs Presley by the collar.

“I’ll fucking kill you!” he begins, snarling, paying no mind to the man’s terrified stuttering.

“Ethan!” Jane repeats, louder and firmer, but once again he ignores her.

“ _What the fuck did you do?”_ shouts Ethan, giving Presley a shake.

“I swear, I – I didn’t, uh, I didn’t mean to!” the man says, white as a sheet, looking like he’s going to pass out. “I got, uh, I got, I got a scare and I dropped it, _I didn’t mean to_!”

“Ethan, let him go _now_ ,” says Jane sharply. “Before I have to physically pull you off.”

Ethan releases the doctor, who sinks back into his seat, breathing hard. “No,” says Ethan again, and this time his voice comes out broken. “Will. _No_.” The words _fatal in five hours_ and _no cure_ won’t leave his head, and suddenly he feels like he can’t breathe, like the world is shrinking down around him and tightening like a vice around his ribcage, he can’t _breathe_ , he can’t _think_ , oh God, _Will is going to die—_

“Ethan!”

_He’s going to die he’s going to die he’s going to die_

“Ethan, listen to me!”

_despite everything I do he’s going to die and there’s nothing I can do about it oh God I’m going to_

“Ethan, please, breathe!”

_lose him, I’m going to lose him, he’s going to die he’s going to die he’sgoingtodie—_

Dimly he’s aware of Will’s voice calling his name, urging him to breathe, but it’s like it’s reaching him from so far away. He can’t get air into his lungs, there isn’t enough oxygen in the _world_ , and even if there was, what is the point, _Will is going to die_ and _he’s helpless to do anything about it_ —

“ETHAN!”

It’s almost a scream, and Ethan forces himself to count to ten, inhale and exhale, take in deep lungfuls of air so that he can _focus_ , he can _listen_ , he can—Will is talking. Will is talking to him, sounding more and more frantic every second that he doesn’t respond.

“Will.” He sounds bleak, hopeless. “ _Will_.”

“Listen to me!” Will yells. Ethan can somewhat hear Jane reassuring Presley that Ethan’s not going to kill him, while Benji hovers anxiously in the vicinity, watching it all. “Ethan, _listen_!” Will calls out again, and Ethan forces himself to look at him.

“I’m fine!” Will tells him. “I’m okay!”

“What—” It feels like his brain is thick sludge, making it harder for thoughts to move through.

“I’m okay, it didn’t touch me!” Will says, sounding so calm and reassuring, so soothing… “It fell on my feet, and I’m wearing combat boots, remember? It didn’t get through to my skin, Ethan, I’m fine, I’m _okay_ , just please _breathe_!”

There’s a thin layer of panic underlying his voice, so well-hidden that no one but Ethan can even detect it. The thought takes a few moments to register, but then Ethan’s scrambling up to his feet (when had he sat down on the ground? He can’t recall) and stumbling to Will’s side of the Jeep, opening the door and pulling him to himself, clutching him, holding him close like if he does it long enough he can hide Will inside himself, protect it from the world.

Will’s arms come up to circle Ethan’s waist and he rests his head on his chest, on top of his heart. “Ethan, I’m okay,” he repeats, his voice muffled in Ethan’s shirt. “I swear. It didn’t touch me. I’ll take my shoes off if you don’t believe me.”

Ethan doesn’t reply, just holds Will tighter and breathes in what he can of his scent, underlined as it is with desert air, sand and sweat, and he focuses on breathing, paying no mind to the rest of the world. And all the while there is a dark, empty space inside him, where his self-doubt and crippling fears reside, and even as he presses his lips to Will’s head, he knows this is one thing that isn’t going away any time soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Feedback? Anything? I'd love to know what you guys think of this, seriously.
> 
> Love,  
> Remy x


	5. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will attempts to talk to Ethan. It doesn't go well.

“You need help.”

Will’s voice is quiet and determined.

“I’m fine,” Ethan insists for the umpteenth time. “I don’t need anything.”

“You’re only saying that.”

“I’m not.”

It’s not the first time they’re having this discussion, but this is the one time it feels like it might turn into an argument. Will has been remarkably patient with Ethan for the past few weeks, tolerating his overprotectiveness and his fussing good-naturedly and not commenting on it other than cracking a joke here and there. Now, though, he looks exasperated, and with good reason, because even Ethan knows he’s taking it too far. There’s only so many times he can freak out over a simple cough from Will before Will gets tired of it and demands he get his shit together.

“I don’t see why you can’t accept that this is a problem, Ethan, it isn’t _normal_.”

Ethan does his best not to sigh irritably at Will across the dining table. “I’m dealing with it, okay? I’ll manage. Don’t worry about it.”

Will shoots him a look that clearly says _you’re an idiot_. “Okay, sure, I won’t worry. If you promise not to worry about me.”

This time Ethan does sigh. “Those are two completely different things.”

“No, they’re not,” Will replies, “and you know they’re not. You keep worrying that I’m going to get sick even though we took all the precautions, and Presley himself told you I’m not at risk. I keep worrying you’re going to get hurt because you refuse to acknowledge that you have a problem, and it needs to get fixed before it gets much worse than it already has.”

“You know this isn’t the first time it’s happening to me, right?” questions Ethan. “It was the same for me after Phelps, and Chimera, and Davian, and a dozen other times, Will. I got through all of those just fine. I can get through this, too.”

Will raises an eyebrow at him. “You didn’t get through all of them _just fine_ , Ethan, you blew a lot of shit up and were even worse with the death-defying stunts than you normally are. I’ve read your file.”

“I did what I needed to for the missions I was on, and I dealt with everything, and I was _fine_ ,” Ethan all but snaps. “As I will be fine soon enough, if you would please just believe me.”

“You’re not fine, and you won’t be if you don’t get help,” Will tells him, pointing his fork at him, a lone noodle still dangling from it. “Seriously, just consider it, Ethan, at least just _try_ —”

“If you mean therapy, I’ve already said no to that,” Ethan interjects. They’ve had this discussion before, too.

“Only because you think you’re above it!” This time it’s Will’s turn to snap. “You think you can manage this on your own but you can’t, not without pulling some _serious_ self-destructive shit first, and I’m sorry but I can’t let you do that. I can’t just sit by and watch as you keep getting worse and worse, and refusing to admit you need help.”

“I _don’t_ need help,” Ethan retorts. “And I don’t need therapy, either. I’ve gone this long without it, and I’m more or less sane, aren’t I?”

“Going to therapy doesn’t mean you’re insane,” Will sighs. “And it doesn’t mean you’re weak or anything, Ethan. Shit, _I’ve_ had therapy, do you think _I’m_ weak?”

Ethan stops short. “You’ve had therapy?”

Will nods.

“You never said.”

“Never came up, until now.”

“What was it for?”

“Croatia.”

There’s a silence. Ethan doesn’t know how to respond to this, and Will is watching him for signs of… hell, he doesn’t even know what it is Will is hoping to see in his face.

They don’t talk about Croatia, not just because of the fight they’d had regarding it but because, simply put, it’s just too painful for both of them. Ethan lost his wife, and Will lost his self-confidence, his faith in himself, his ability to follow his instincts without second-guessing everything. Ethan’s always thought that maybe that’s why he’s such a brilliant analyst now – it’s partly because of his inability to let go of anything. He’s not going to rest until he has all the answers, and Ethan admires that, even respects it.

But the fact remains that Croatia is always going to be a part of Will.

“It helped.” Will’s quiet voice cuts through his thoughts. “It helped a lot, Ethan. It made me realize that I was being harder on myself than I had to be, that maybe just maybe, there really was nothing I could have done. I’m not saying it _completely_ cured me of all self-doubt, but it helped immensely.”

“But you still didn’t come back in the field,” Ethan points out. “You still chose to stay behind a desk.”

“I did say it didn’t cure me of all my self-doubt,” Will reminds him. “I think some of that will always be with me. But I know how to deal with it now, without hurting myself or anyone else.”

“You think I’m going to end up hurting someone?” That hurts a little, considering Will is sitting there spleenless in front of him, and maybe it’s not an accusation but to Ethan’s guilty conscience it feels like one anyway.

“I think you’re going to end up hurting _yourself_ ,” Will clarifies, his mouth pulling down at the corners. “And Ethan, I can’t see that happen. I can’t let it get that bad. I don’t know what you’re expecting me to do, but I’m not going to sit by and let you self-destruct, okay?”

“I’m not going to self-destruct,” Ethan retorts, a bit miffed. “Please give me some credit here, Will, I’m not _entirely_ an idiot.”

“I don’t think you’re an idiot,” Will sighs. “But right now, you’re trying very hard to convince me otherwise, it would seem.”

“The only thing I want to convince you of is that I’m fine,” Ethan tells him. “I don’t know why you won’t believe me.”

“Because I know you, and I know when you’re lying to yourself,” Will says. “And you’re doing that right now. You’re telling yourself it’s all fine, you don’t need anyone’s help and you sure as hell don’t need therapy, because you can manage just fine on your own, but I’m sorry Ethan, that’s bull _shit_. The only reason you’re refusing to listen to me is because of your stupid pride, your insistence on doing things on your own.”

And there it is. Will’s done what he’s best at, and he’s cut the issue to the bone, and it really shouldn’t sting as much as it does. Pride has always been Ethan’s deadly sin, and Will’s seen it in action, and Will knows when Ethan’s motivated by his pride and when it’s by something else. Will is doing what he does, that thing where he reads people in seconds, and for the first time it makes Ethan feel uncomfortable. All of a sudden he feels like he doesn’t want Will to know what he’s thinking or feeling, doesn’t want Will to look inside him and see it all. He doesn’t want Will to see the mess he’s become that he’s desperately trying to hide, because that would mean he’s wrong and Will’s right, and he doesn’t think that he can deal with that. Not with being wrong – he’s been wrong before and he’s usually gracious about it – but with acknowledging that maybe he really has a problem, and maybe it really is something he can’t deal with on his own.

Nevertheless, Will’s words bring out his defensive side, and even though he’s lying and they both know it, the affront in his voice is real when he says, “It’s not _pride_ , Will, it’s not something that… petty.” _That_ is the truth. He’s petty in his pride sometimes. He knows it, even though he’s not exactly proud of it.

“It is,” Will argues, “and you know it, Ethan, don’t deny it.”

Maybe it’s because Will’s accusation of pride still stings, or maybe Ethan just wants to end this argument any way he can. Even then, the next words out of his mouth surprise them both.

“How about this, Will – maybe you could trust me for once, instead of second-guessing every single thing that comes out of my mouth?”

The silence is overwhelmingly loud.

Ethan wishes he can take the words back almost immediately – _hello déjà vu my old friend_ – but it’s too late for that. There is shock written all over Will’s face, blue eyes wide as he looks at Ethan like he can’t believe what he just heard. And it occurs to Ethan that he’s just implied that he doesn’t think Will trusts him – Will, who never trusted anyone before, always relied exclusively on himself, but still gave all of himself to Ethan. Will, who clearly trusts him with his life, and with his heart, and his body.

“Will,” he begins, intending to apologize, his appetite gone, bile rising in his throat already, but Will’s already dumping his plate in the sink and putting the leftovers in the fridge.

“Will,” he tries again.

“I’m going to bed,” Will says, his voice stony.

Ethan reaches out and grabs Will’s wrist. “Will, listen to me—”

“You’re sorry, you didn’t mean it, that’s not what you really think,” Will recites. “That’s what you were going to say, right?” He snatches his wrist out of Ethan’s grasp. “Ethan…” He stops, clearly thinking better of whatever he was going to say, and then turns and leaves, shoulders slumping, and Ethan hates himself more than ever.

* * *

 

The bedroom door’s ajar when he gets there, fifteen minutes later, after clearing the table and doing the dishes. Through the gap he can make out Will, lying curled on his side of the bed, appearing asleep but just as likely not.

Sighing to himself, Ethan slowly inches the door open and slips in, closing the door just as quietly and padding over to the bed. He takes utmost care not to disturb Will as he gets in, but it doesn’t work – Will shoots upright and has a knife pointed at him in three seconds flat, relaxing only when he sees it’s not Ethan.

“Sorry,” apologizes Ethan, forcing himself to calm down as Will puts the knife away. His heart is racing uncomfortably fast against his ribcage, but he can’t really blame Will – he would have done the same thing in his stead. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay,” Will replies, lying back down. “And sorry, I didn’t mean to almost stab you.”

He’s acting more or less normal, like their fight hasn’t occurred, and for a moment Ethan is mystified, before it occurs to him that this is Will’s defense mechanism. If he pretends it didn’t happen, it can’t hurt him as much. The thought makes something deep inside Ethan ache.

He waits until Will’s settled on his side, facing him, before saying, “Will, listen, I’m sorry about earlier. I really am. I don’t know why I said it, but I swear to you, I didn’t mean it like you think I did.”

Will regards him for a moment, and then says, simply, “Okay. I forgive you.”

Not sure he’s heard right, Ethan says, “What?”

“You heard me,” Will tells him. “You said you didn’t want to talk about it, so let’s not. Goodnight.” He closes his eyes.

They fly open again when Ethan places his hand on Will’s face. Will opens his mouth to speak, but Ethan beats him to it. “I really don’t want to talk about it, but that doesn’t mean my apology wasn’t sincere.”

“I know,” Will says, rolling his eyes with what looks miraculously like fond exasperation. “I can tell when you’re lying and when you’re not, remember?”

Ethan can’t help but smile. “Yeah.”

“So there you have it. Now stop worrying about it, and go to sleep.”

Ethan snorts. “Okay, Mom.”

Will rolls his eyes again, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face, and it’s all Ethan needs to know he really is forgiven. Feeling himself relax, his heartbeat returning to normal, Ethan withdraws his hand and closes his eyes, dozing off within minutes.

He doesn’t know Will lies awake all night, watching him with a sad look on his face.


	6. VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethan fucks up big-time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is late. I realize. I had finals, and they went on forever, and shit man, it's medical school. What more do I need to say?
> 
> Anyhow, here is the chapter. This is the one I've been threatening my friends with, and I'm pretty sure all 10 of my 5 friends are going to despise me for this. I wanna say sorry but also - I DID WARN YOU. I DID. MILLIONS OF TIMES.
> 
> This one's specifically for Cody and Sanjana - YOU ASKED FOR IT, OKAY. YOU ASKED. JUST REMEMBER THAT.

Something’s different.

It’s not really noticeable, not at first, and if Ethan has to pinpoint a certain moment when this change occurred, he won’t be able to. He doesn’t know what it is that’s changed, what’s wrong, what’s going on. All he knows is that something between him and Will is different now.

Will’s not talking to him as much as he used to, for one. At first Ethan put it down to him just being tired as hell all the time, thanks to juggling the combined responsibilities of being a field agent, Chief Analyst and also Ethan’s keeper, but now he thinks it’s more than that. He thinks that Will doesn’t talk because he doesn’t know what to say, and that starts an ache in his chest. They have never had to worry about not being able to talk to each other; it’s just been understood that the two of them have no secrets between them, and have mastered the art of communication in all its forms.

And here they are, having silent dinners and awkward small talk like they’ve only just met, like they haven’t spent years living together, being in each other’s space, like they don’t know each other in every intimate way. Ethan aches to break the silence, to say something that can somehow erase the still air between them and return them to how they used to be, but he doesn’t know _what_. There is no magic word or deed that can fix this.

But they’re both nothing if not flexible human beings, and they adjust. Ethan, terribly, gets somehow used to waking up without Will next to him, hearing the shower already going and knowing he won’t be turned away if he were to go in there, but he won’t be welcomed either. Quiet breakfast, dressing for work in absolute silence, driving to work in absolute silence, save the occasional comment on the weather or something work-related.

It feels like they’ve regressed even past the professional relationship they had, and left love and friendship somewhere far behind in the rearview mirror. Oh, Ethan knows he’ll still take a bullet for Will, and he knows with absolute certainty that Will would do the same for him – and he knows they still love each other. He _knows_ , knows it without explaining how he does. He just does.

But there is still something missing, and Ethan doesn’t know what it is, or how to make it come back.

* * *

 

They go on for weeks like this, and with each passing day the hole in the air between them grows bigger and also somehow heavier, like it’s holding the weight of everything they were and aren’t now. With each passing day Ethan gets more and more used to it, and still the hurt increases exponentially.

One night Ethan wakes up to the sound of harsh breathing, and it takes him a moment to recalibrate his senses, reassure himself it’s not a burglar, and realize that the sound is coming from Will. Something inside him tears horribly at it; Will sounds ragged on the inside, like he’s been torn to ribbons but can’t figure out where he’s bleeding from and how to staunch it.

“Will?”

There’s a sharp intake of breath. Then, “I’m fine.” His voice is hoarse.

“No, you’re obviously not.” Ethan turns to switch on the lamp by his side, and then turns back to Will, concern taking over any misgivings in his mind. “Will, what’s wrong?”

Will’s face is pale, his skin taut like it’s stretched over his skull. It’s a cool night and yet there is sweat shining on his brow and pooling in the hollows over his collarbones, his hair shaped into wet spikes with it. He looks spooked; even now he’s not quite looking at Ethan, just staring off into space, his eyes fixed on the wall facing him but it doesn’t look like he’s actually seeing it.

Ethan wonders uneasily if touching Will would just scare him more, but decides _fuck it_ and reaches out anyway, even though he doesn’t know what to do. He lightly touches Will’s bare arm and when Will doesn’t react, places his entire hand on it. “Will,” he says, trying to sound gentle, “what’s wrong?” He doesn’t know if the repetition will get him an answer, but he hopes. He hates seeing Will likes this, loathes it – he recognizes the signs of a nightmare like the expert he is on the subject, and he hates that he can’t make it go away. He hates that this is a thing he can’t defend Will from.

“Nothing.” Will whispers it, his voice now sounding strangely wet and strained, like a membrane stretched too tight. “It’s nothing, I’m sorry, go back to sleep.”

“Like hell,” retorts Ethan, then winces when Will flinches at his raised voice. “How am I just expected to go back to sleep when I know you’re not okay?”

Will levels a look at him that clearly says, _you bloody hypocrite_. He’s too nice to voice it – or too distraught, which is the likelier explanation considering how he’s never bothered sparing Ethan’s feelings before – but Ethan reads it on his face just the same, and knows it to be true. After all, isn’t this what he’s been doing for the last few months? Turning Will away when all Will wanted to do was help? Isn’t this what’s driven a wedge between them, turned them into _this_?

He sighs. “Will—”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Will repeats, and he sounds desperate. He turns away from Ethan, covering his face with one hand even as he lets out a choked sob. “I’m fucking _fine_.” He doesn’t sound convincing in the least. “Just – just go back to sleep, okay? It’s nothing.”

Ethan considers his options – hound Will into telling him and risk upsetting him further; or keep needling at him until they end up arguing; or, and this is the most attractive path right now, to do as he says and leave him alone to deal with whatever this is. He knows it’s the cowardly thing to do but he goes with the last one, mainly because he doesn’t feel up to arguing with Will and he also doesn’t know what he’ll say to him that will make him feel better. And isn’t that strange? He’s always known how to help Will through his nightmares before. He doesn’t know why he feels so helpless now.

In the end he just says, “All right,” and lies back down. “Wake me up if you need anything,” he offers as an afterthought, even though he knows Will won’t.

“Okay,” replies Will tiredly, also lying down but facing away from Ethan. “Sorry I woke you up.”

“Don’t be silly,” Ethan replies at once, turning off the light.

Will doesn’t reply.

Neither of them sleep that night.

* * *

This is how Ethan knows he’s fucked something up beyond saving. When he can see his partner suffer and not know what to do about it; when he can leave him alone to stare at the window all night long as he pretends to sleep; when they can wake up in the morning and act like nothing happened.

Ethan’s not stupid, he knows what’s led to this. It started when his nightmares got worse and he refused to get help for them; it started when Will did his best to help but Ethan turned him away and pushed him further from himself; and now it’s culminated in this – the tables have turned and now it’s Ethan who’s trying to help Will but finding himself rebuffed.

He’s not stupid, he knows what’ll fix this – but even to himself he cannot admit he has a problem. It’s just a few fucking nightmares, some residual paranoia from the job. Hyperactive reflexes, the occasional bad memory. It’s nothing he hasn’t dealt with before. He got through it then and he can get through it now, and he doesn’t think he needs outside help in dealing with it. He never did before. All he needs is time. He just wishes Will could give him that much.

He wishes he didn’t resent Will for that. It’s not Will’s fault, after all – he just wants Ethan to be all right. But he won’t trust Ethan to get to the finish line in one piece, and that gets to Ethan. He’s always managed to bounce back from this before, hasn’t he? So why can’t Will believe he’ll do the same now?

* * *

There’s a warm spell a few days later, and Will takes to opening the window before bed every night to let cool air in. Despite that the room still feels like a furnace sometimes; they’ve ditched the blankets and now sleep in thin sheets, doing their best to stay comfortable but still waking up sweating from the heat.

It takes an unwilling Ethan back to his Army days, when he’d been stationed in Afghanistan, and the heat there had been nigh on unbearable. It wasn’t even humid – it was dry, the sort of heat that got under your skin and down to your core, made you sweat buckets and drove you damn near insane. Ethan remembers feeling like he was going to overheat and combust even when he was naked, remembers showering whenever he could and still being sweaty and hot five minutes later. The heat brings with it memories of the blazing sun and the stifling heat even at night, as he lay surrounded by the bitter stench of sweat and occasionally, puke.

The first time he had killed someone had been in Afghanistan.

He doesn’t even know why he’s thinking of it now – it’s been twenty years, perhaps slightly more, and Afghanistan hasn’t come to him in a long time. He thought he’d desensitized himself to it a long time ago, when the bodies began piling up and he lost count somewhere around the fifties, but clearly he’s wrong on that front; he remembers clear as day and wishes he wouldn’t. It hadn’t been pleasant by any stretch of the imagination.

* * *

_There is sand everywhere, even in the barracks. It’s in his shoes and in his socks, under his bedroll, coarse and gritty, and in his clothes, and sometimes it feels like it’s under his skin too. Every drop of water is simultaneously a blessing and a curse – the former because it keeps him alive, and the latter because it always leaves him craving more._

_He has only been here a month or so, but hasn’t seen active combat yet. A few of the men with him tell him he’s lucky, but he disagrees; this isn’t what he came here for. He wants to fight, dammit, he wants to go out and feel the rush of battle, he wants to fight for his life. He wants the blood thundering through his body and the adrenalin coursing through his veins. He wants anything but this dull, inactive restlessness, and all this stupid fucking sand._

_He gets his wish, all right, he gets it far sooner than he’d have expected._

* * *

Ethan can’t forget the man’s face – he had known, even when he’d shot him, that he’d remember it for the rest of his life – and once it’s back in his memories, it won’t go. He hasn’t thought of it or seen it in his mind’s eye for _years_ , but now it’s back and it just _won’t go_.

* * *

_It’s a quiet night; whoever isn’t on duty right now is in his or her bedroll, either asleep or almost there. Ethan is the only one awake, lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling, grumbling to himself that if this is what he’s going to be doing, nothing but chores chores chores and listening to brisk orders and waiting for action, then maybe he should have stayed at the family farm. What he did there and what he’s doing here isn’t so different._

_He counts sheep and he counts stars; he tosses this way and that; he sings to himself and he counts backwards from a thousand, but despite everything he can’t get himself to go to sleep. He’s just about at the end of his rope, tired of everything – from the suffocating arid heat, to Private Burton’s snoring, to the sand in his clothes and in his bed, right down to the bloody insomnia – when there is a burst of gunfire from outside, and then their commanding officer bursts into the room and wakes them up in an emergency, barking at them to get on their feet, grab their arms and report ASAP. Apparently they’re under attack, and he needs all the men he can get._

_Immediately Ethan’s senses are singing – he’s on high alert, heart beginning to thump rapidly in his chest already, a half-grin he can’t suppress on his face at the thought of finally, **finally**_ _facing some action. He’s on his feet in seconds, his weapon in his hand as he scrambles to make his way out of the sleeping quarters and into the midst of the battle._

_He hears the rattle of automatic gunfire, sees bullets hit the sand and send it everywhere, sees men dropping, but he doesn’t let it get to him, not just yet. There is too much adrenalin right now, and it won’t let him register anything other than the direction the gunfire is coming from. He squints into the darkness, trying to find something to aim his gun at – and again, he gets what he wished for when a man stumbles out of the night, yelling something that he can’t understand and brandishing an AK-47 at him._

_The man’s footsteps are soft, muffled by the sand. He hasn’t seen Ethan just yet, but Ethan’s seen him and already has his gun aimed at him. He’s just waiting for a clear shot. The man comes closer; Ethan’s finger tightens on the trigger. If he applies even half a pound more of force, the gun will fire._

_The man halts, turning away from Ethan and shouting something, and Ethan takes his chance – he sends up a prayer to whoever’s listening that the bullet he’s about to send out finds its mark, and then_

* * *

he fires.

Wait, no, that’s not right, is it? He’s dreaming. He’s remembering Afghanistan, he’s dreaming about the first man he ever killed.

Afghanistan was a long time ago. He’s home now, in his own bed, thousands of miles away from that arid desert land.

So why does he have a gun in his hand?

Why is it aimed right in front of him?

Why is his finger on the trigger?

Has he fired?

Oh God, _has he fired?_

It’s Will who answers for him, only he doesn’t use words. He can’t. He just stands in the doorway, looking at Ethan with wide blue eyes, expression stunned. Behind him, Ethan can hear the _drip-drip_ of their faulty faucet – Will must have forgotten to turn it all the way when he got done with the bathroom—

Will tries to inhale, looking like he’s struggling to form words, but there’s a horrible thick wet sound when he tries. Ethan’s heard that before. He knows what that is. He just doesn’t want to believe it.

The red stain on Will’s chest keeps growing bigger by the second. Will is still looking at him like he can’t quite believe what’s just happened. He tries again to breathe, and he fails again.

Ethan can do nothing but watch, horror freezing him in place. What has he done, oh God _what has he done_ —

Will crumbles to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't kill me omg I'm too young to die I HAVEN'T EVEN KISSED ANYONE YET


	7. VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hospital waiting rooms and doctors with bloody scrubs; cops and questions; beginnings and endings - Ethan can't process any of it. All he knows is this - he's shot the only person who's made his life worth living.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this is late, oh my God. I have no excuse - life has been super hectic, since I've started my fourth year of uni, which means I'm seeing patients now and actually treating people (whoo!), and also working on a novel.
> 
> Anyway yes, here's the buttload of angst I came up with in half an hour of writing. Special thanks to Pooja for challenging me to write with her, and for beta-ing this afterwards. You're the best <3<3<3
> 
> And thanks to all of you, for still sticking with this. You guys rock <3
> 
> WARNING: this chapter has suicidal thoughts. Skip if you don't want to see those, and I'll include a summary for you at the end.

There is something incredibly terrible about hospital waiting rooms – the utter _stillness_ , the overwhelming _silence_ , that God-awful antiseptic smell that stings his nostrils… Ethan hates it all with a burning passion. He hates how it feels like he’s stuck in limbo here, not knowing what’s going to happen. Shit, he’s still processing what _has_ happened.

He shot Will.

He _shot_ Will.

_He shot Will_.

Repetition does nothing to numb him to the fact, or let him process it faster. It just makes everything worse, the utter implausibility of it, how impossible the idea seems even after the fact… he’s just shot his significant other, the person he cares for the most, the love of his miserable life, _in the Goddamn chest_.

Fuck.

He’s not sure how long he’s been sitting here for – it could be half an hour, or half a day, or shit, fucking _years_. It doesn’t matter anyway – nothing matters except Will, who could be dying for all Ethan knows.

Or already dead.

_Fuck_.

He slumps forward in the hard plastic chair and puts his face in his hands, feeling too tired to even cry or anything. He’s not sure he deserves the relief that tears will bring. He doesn’t deserve any relief of any kind right now, not when he’s hurt the one person who would have done anything for him.

Will’s always said he’d take a bullet for Ethan. Hell, he _has_ taken bullets for Ethan, multiple times. But to take a bullet _from_ Ethan? That’s some fucked up shit. There’s some irony in it, Ethan thinks, if only he cared to look for it.

There’s no coming back from this, Ethan knows this much. Whether Will lives or dies, there’s no coming back from this.

* * *

 

It’s been two hours since he brought Will in, screaming at the peak of his lungs. He’s sitting limp on the hard chair, back against the wall, head leaned back so he can stare at the ceiling. His brain is… frozen, stuck on the moment he’d come to his senses to realize he’d shot Will. Stuck on blue eyes and a shocked look, stuck on the horrible, _awful_ sound Will had made just before he’d crumpled.

Ethan thinks, _if only I had my gun right now_. He’d thrown it to the side when he raced to Will’s side. He doesn’t think he ever wants to touch it again, but at the same time his fingers itch for it, itch to put the barrel to his temple and—

The door opens, and a doctor in bloody scrubs walks out. “He’ll live,” he tells Ethan. His manner is frosty, wary, and Ethan understands the guy is suspicious as all hell. He can’t blame him. “He’ll be in bed for long time, and he’s going to be absolutely miserable, but he’ll live. You didn’t do any permanent damage.”

Ethan would sigh in relief if he had the energy. All he can muster is a weak “Thank you.”

“You’re his friend, you said?” the doctor asks. He’s not really that old, mid-thirties maybe, but he has the weary demeanor of a man who’s seen too much blood for his years. Ethan can sympathize.

“Partner,” Ethan clarifies for him. “We live together. He’s my…” He trails off. He’s Ethan’s what, exactly? Boyfriend sounds so damn juvenile. Lover, too freaking dramatic. Significant other is so strangely formal. And they’re not married or engaged or anything, though Ethan thinks he’d love to marry Will.

Not that Will is going to want anything to do with him now, though. The thought sears the lining of Ethan’s heart, feels like fire inside his chest. Will probably never wants to see his face again.

“Tell me what happened,” the doctor says, and Ethan looks up at him, blinking himself back to the present. “Tell me how he ended up shot in the chest.” He looks like he already knows, though.

“Did you–” Ethan’s throat feels dry; he swallows, coughs, and tries again. “Did you call the police?”

“It’s standard procedure to notify them in domestic violence cases,” the doctor replies, confirming that yes, he’s aware of how exactly Will got shot. “They’ll be here soon. You can give them whatever story you’ve got.”

“It’s not—” begins Ethan, but the doctor’s already turning on his heels and walking back to where he came from. Great. So now he’s under suspicion and probably going to be charged for domestic violence.

Big fucking deal. He deserves so much worse. He deserves… attempted murder. Jail. 25 to life. Fuck, even _that_ doesn’t seem like repayment enough for what he’s done to Will.

And not just the shooting, either. The months of silence, of ignoring him, of not reaching out to him, of denying his help and outright hurting him… what Ethan’s done to him is worse than any bullet wound, worse than anything anyone else he could’ve done. It’s nothing short of betrayal of the worst possible kind, and Ethan hates himself so much for it that he can’t even breathe with the intensity of it.

He has never deserved Will, and Will has always deserved better than him.

* * *

 

The police arrives a few minutes later, and Ethan stands to talk to him. They ask him the usual stuff, name, address, ID, all of that, and then move straight on to what happened.

If this was a mission, Ethan would lie through his teeth like there’s no tomorrow. He’s no stranger to making up bullshit on the spot – he’s actually brilliant at it. No one can bullshit better than him, except maybe Will.

He won’t do it now. Will deserves better.

He tells the truth.

* * *

 

They leave him alone after that, just warn him not to leave the hospital, and then go off to talk to their superior. Ethan watches them leave, his eyes trained on the small of their backs, subconsciously storing away every detail he can collect. Consciously, all he can think of is Will.

_One last time,_ he thinks. _I’ll go see him one last time, and never again._

Will deserves better.

So he goes in the direction that the doctor had come from, and follows the corridor to an OR where the doctor is situated outside, speaking to a couple of his colleagues about something or the other. He stops abruptly when he sees Ethan. “You can’t be here,” he says. “Go back to the waiting room, the cops’ll be there soon.”

“I’ve spoken to them,” Ethan tells him. “They just told me not to leave the hospital. Please, can I – I need to see him. _Please_ ,” he adds, and the note of pleading in his voice is genuine, not a lie, not bullshit.

The doctor sighs. “He’s not here. We’ve had him moved to a room in the ICU for post-operative recovery and observation.”

“Which room?” asks Ethan, his heart skipping a beat at the thought of seeing Will.

“I can’t tell you,” the doctor says. “Not without the police’s approval.”

Ethan considers punching him, for a fleeting second, before he remembers exactly _why_ he’s in the hospital to begin with, and what violence has gotten him into. He swallows down the sudden bile rising in his throat – God, he’s just… so fucked up, so fucked up, all he does is hurt people—

“Officer!” calls out the doctor, and Ethan turns to see one of the cops from earlier coming their way. “He says he wants to see the patient.”

The cop looks at Ethan, as if trying to read him. Ethan keeps his face carefully neutral. “Let him,” the cop says in the end, shaking his grizzled white hair out of his eyes. “Ten minutes only. Then we’re gonna have a talk, son, you and I,” he directs towards Ethan.

A talk. Probably about charges, lawyers, jail… Ethan can’t find it within himself to care. Nothing is important right now except for seeing Will.

The doctor sighs again, as if he thinks this isn’t a good idea but can’t really do anything about it. “I’ll get a nurse to show you the room,” he says reluctantly to Ethan, side-eyeing the cop as if hoping he’ll change his mind.

The Gary Oldman lookalike cop doesn’t change his mind, and the doctor sighs again. Ethan hates him, but not too much. He can’t really fault the man, seeing as he is concerned for Will. Someone’s got to be, especially after Ethan’s turned out to be absolute shit at it.

The nurse leads him to Will’s room, tucked away in a nice corner on the second floor of the hospital. It’s night so the blinds are drawn, but in the morning there’s going to be a pretty view from the windows. Not that it’s going to be much comfort to either Ethan or Will.

Sister Julianne leaves him with a reminder that he only has ten minutes, and not to overstay his welcome or she’ll call security. The cold manner in which she treats him furthers his self-hatred, but he tells himself he deserves it, because he does. He deserves all the dirty looks thrown his way, the contempt and disgust, the suspicion and caution. He deserves that, and so much worse.

He’s shot his partner point-blank in the chest. There aren’t words enough in the English language – or any language, really – to describe the hatred Ethan has for himself.

The nurse finally leaves, and Ethan makes use of the newfound solitude to focus on Will – Will, who looks so small and pale against the brilliant whiteness of the bedsheets, and so unbearably _young_. Ethan has never seen him look so vulnerable, so utterly fragile before, and it breaks whatever’s left of his heart. He’s done this. He’s responsible for this, for how worn out Will looks around the edges, for all of the agony he’s going to be in when he wakes.

He wishes for his gun again, but just for a moment. Right now, he has more important things to focus on.

He wants nothing more than to reach out and take Will’s hand, or to lean over him and kiss his forehead, touch his cheek, feel his skin… but he thinks he might finally vomit if he does. He is terrified of touching Will right now, of somehow making him worse, damaging him more than he already has. But the worst feeling is knowing that if Will was awake, he wouldn’t want Ethan to touch him. That’s the final nail in the coffin, the ultimate _thud_ of the hammer falling.

Will wouldn’t want to touch him, or be near him, or talk to him, or even look at him. Will wouldn’t want anything to do with anyone who took him for granted and threw him aside, who hurt him like no one else ever had.

Who betrayed his trust and spat on his love in the worst possible manner.

“Fuck,” chokes out Ethan, and great, now is when the tears finally decide to make an appearance. “Fuck, Will, I’m – I’m so sorry.” It’s not adequate. It could never hope to be. Ethan could spend the rest of his life making amends and it would never be enough.

“I know you hate me,” he says next, his voice wavering, his eyes heavy with tears. There’s something awful huge stuck in his throat, and he has to struggle to speak past it. “I hate myself, too. I wish – I wish you’d never met me. You deserve so much better than me. I’m a fucking mess, fuck, you were _right_ , I’m so screwed up. And if I’d listened to you this wouldn’t have happened, fuck, Will, _fuck,_ I’m so _fucking sorry_.”

Will remains still, so lifeless and unmoving. Ethan can’t bear to look at him like this, but he can’t tear his eyes away either.

“I’m going to get out of your hair,” he promises. “You’ll never see me again, I swear. I just – I hope you get better soon. And you find someone who makes you happy, who _deserves_ you. Not a failure like me.”

He waits for a few seconds, hoping that Will wakes and at the same time not wanting him to. He can’t bear to face Will right now, but he also wants to listen to his voice one last time.

A few minutes pass by, and he accepts it’s not going to happen. So he stands, and he steels himself, and he presses one last kiss to Will’s fever-warm, dry lips. “I love you,” he whispers. “I always will.”

And he walks out of the room, even though turning his back on Will kills him inside like nothing has so far. He doesn’t bother to hide the fact that he’s silently crying. He’ll shed a thousand, a _million_ tears for Will, if that’s what it takes. He’ll shed every last drop of blood in his veins for Will, no matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Sanjana](http://ao3.org/users/spnxbookworm) has written an _amazing_ coda for the previous chapter of this fic, which I'll ask her to put ASAP. Go read it when she does, you'll cry, I swear it.
> 
> Feedback is much appreciated!
> 
> Love,  
> Remy x
> 
> * * *
> 
> Summary for the people who skipped, if any:  
> Ethan waits in the hospital for news on Will. The doctor tells him Will is going to live, there's no permanent damage, but because this is a domestic violence case, the police has been informed. Ethan tells them the truth, then sees Will for one last time before promising to get out of his hair.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Shattered Mind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8432140) by [SPNxBookworm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SPNxBookworm/pseuds/SPNxBookworm)




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